


Christmas Kitsch

by gmariam



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Christmas, Humor, M/M, Ridiculous use of Christmas puddings and candy canes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21938455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gmariam/pseuds/gmariam
Summary: The team enjoys Christmas Eve chasing elves and dodging puddings.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 8
Kudos: 59





	Christmas Kitsch

Christmas Kitsch

Jack was tired of running.

Once, it had been fun. That had been with the Doctor, always running from danger. It had been adventurous, exciting—even back when the possibility of death had been very real. He hadn't been scared because he'd been with the Doctor, and somehow the Doctor always made things right. "Everybody lives!" he'd exclaim, and they were off on the next adventure.

Jack knew better now. After over a hundred years, he knew that not everybody lived, and he was tired of it. Running wasn't fun, or exciting. It was endless and terrifying and Jack was tired of running.

Especially running after alien elves stealing every Santa Claus in the city.

Ridiculous.

Jack had lived through some tough holidays: wars, epidemics, that one year with his in-laws. He'd watched London experience some strange Christmases, even sat back and laughed a few times. But this one…this was just absurd. If it hadn't been Christmas and he hadn't had plans with Ianto, it might have been somewhat funny, but even Owen was sick of trying to make elf jokes after spending twelve hours chasing the damn things around town on Christmas Eve.

Who stole Santa Claus? Only aliens. And they looked like something straight out of a Marks and Spencer catalog from Mars. Smartly dressed right down to the shiny boots and matching hats, they were more high society teenaged sprites than overworked elves from the North Pole. Jack wanted them gone.

They were fast, and sneaky, and they had a mischievous streak a mile long. They were obsessed with Santa Claus, and every statue, doll, picture or light-up monstrosity in the city had been targeted, with dozens gone missing. Even a few real-life Santas had been harassed. But they were finally closing in, and Jack hoped that within an hour the elves be in the cells so he could finally put on his holiday jumper, take it off, and start celebrating properly with Ianto.

Then again, things never went as hoped in Torchwood.

Tosh was the first to go down. They were tracking the elves through the first floor of Queen's Arcade. It was dark and silent aside from the sad notes of a music box playing Wham from somewhere in Argos. They walked with weapons drawn, constantly scanning for elves, until something came flying at them from above and hit Tosh hard on the head; she fell immediately, landing awkwardly on her arm and hitting her head again. Owen called out and they immediately surrounded their downed teammate while he examined her.

"She's out cold," Owen announced. "And she fell on her arm, wrist looks broken or sprained. I should get her back to the Hub."

"What happened?" asked Gwen.

"This," Owen replied, and he held up a large ceramic St Nicholas with a crack in it. "It's a bloody Christmas ornament."

"Ornaments don't usually knock people out," said Jack.

"Apparently solid ones thrown with enough force can," Owen replied, tossing it up to Jack; it was hideous and heavy. "These buggers must be strong. Where the hell did it come from?"

"John Lewis," said Ianto, shrugging when everyone looked at him. "Saw them there last week."

"Who were you shopping for in John Lewis?" Gwen asked with a teasing smile. Jack rolled his eyes before Ianto could even start to reply.

"Later, Gwen. We need to focus." He glanced around the arcade, checking the upper level. He didn't want to abandon the chase, but he didn't want to leave Tosh unconscious and alone either.

"Let's head to the SUV, and you can take her back to the Hub," Jack decided, and he picked her up. "Cover me from more Santa bombs."

Gwen took point while Ianto followed behind, walking backward to cover them. Owen walked beside Jack, protecting Tosh, until something wet and sticky exploded nearby with a squelching sound. Once more the team closed in, protecting Jack and Tosh. But it was Owen who was hit this time.

"Bloody hell, it's a pudding," he said. "I'm covered in a fucking Christmas pudding."

"Probably got that at Waitrose," Ianto said, his weapon trained on the upper level once more. An evil sounding giggle echoed around them.

"They're shit, Rhys's mum got one last year," Gwen said.

"Would you two stop it with the shopping tips?" Jack snapped. "Let's move, before we're all Christmas casualties."

Ianto and Gwen remained thankfully quiet, and they made it out to the SUV without any more attacks. Tosh came to as Jack laid her down in the back seat. She saw Owen, covered in sticky fruit, and frowned. "Why are you covered in pudding?"

"Same reason you've got a sore head," he said. "Which is also why we get a break from elf wrangling."

Though he didn't see him, Jack could feel Ianto rolling his eyes somewhere behind him. "They're not actually elves, Owen. "

"Whatever, shop boy. They look like elves and are obsessed with Santa. Good enough for me."

Ianto gave an overdramatic sigh laced with long suffering impatience. "They're called Dryadalis. They're from the planet Aquilo, and they worship an ancient deity dressed in red furs known as Paternivei. They're not stealing Santa, they're releasing the icons of their god from bondage."

Jack and Gwen turned and stared at him in disbelief. "You're joking," said Gwen.

"I don't joke about aliens." Jack suspected he was making it all up, but while Ianto had an impressive poker face, he did know everything, so it could be completely true.

"How do you know all that?" demanded Owen. "And why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"Haven't had a chance 'till now," Ianto replied. "And it was in a Torchwood One file. Always interesting in London at Christmas."

"You're taking the piss," Owen insisted.

"Maybe," said Ianto. "And maybe they shit marshmellows."

Once again Jack stepped in; apparently his team was feeling the holiday stress, if Ianto's sky high sass was anything to go by. "Whatever they are, let's finish this. Owen, you and Tosh go back to the Hub, get fixed up, and meet us wherever we tell you to meet us."

"Will do, boss," said Owen, and he threw the SUV into reverse and sped away. Gwen turned to Ianto.

"Are they really called Dryadalis?" she asked. "Or were you trying to get one over on Owen?"

"I wasn't trying," Ianto replied, and left it at that. Jack was still not sure whether the other man was pulling one over on them all. He shook his head; he'd have to pry it out of Ianto later, preferably under some mistletoe.

"Back to chasing elves, kids," he said. "Before Christmas is ruined for all of Cardiff."

"If they've moved on to stealing puddings, I think we're better off," Ianto murmured.

"Not if we're all wearing one. Let's move out."

"Good plan," said Ianto. "Where to?"

Jack checked his wrist strap; he could track the elves unique energy signature, and it was heading toward Cardiff Castle. They started with a fast walk, and then a slow run. As they dashed across Castle Street, they saw that the main entrance had been broken open.

Jack tapped his earpiece. "Tosh, Owen," he snapped. "They've got onto the castle grounds. Tell the authorities we're on it and to keep the area clear."

"I'll call them right now, Jack," Tosh said. "Be careful."

"Watch out for fruitcakes," added Owen.

They burst through the tunnel entrance and stopped as something hit Jack in the chest and exploded in a cloud of dust. Looking down, he saw glitter everywhere—his coat, his pants, his shoes. He even spit some out of his mouth.

"Very Elton John," said Ianto.

"To the left!" said Gwen, and she took off toward the castle apartments. As she ran past the trees, one of the aliens leapt out and tackled her. Jack skidded to a stop, Ianto beside him, their weapons drawn as Gwen wrestled with an alien elf.

"Shoot it!" she shouted as they rolled across the pavement and into the cold, wet and unusually muddy grass.

"I can't!" Jack shouted. It latched onto her ankle and bit down hard; she kicked it off with her other foot, but it pounced on her back and they rolled around some more. "Stop moving!"

A shot rang out and the elf collapsed on top of Gwen, both of them covered in mud. Jack turned to Ianto, who met his gaze and raised an eyebrow; Jack half expected him to blow smoke off the tip of his gun.

"Sorted," said Ianto.

Jack frowned, opened his mouth, then shut it with another shake of his head and ran over to Gwen, putting the incredibly sexy image of Ianto and his smoking gun from his head. He heaved the alien off Gwen and grinned.

"People would pay good money to watch mud wrestling like that," he said. She glared at him as he helped her stand, only for her to stumble against him, her leg clearly giving out where the elf had got her.

"Shit, my ankle," she said. "Go, get the bastards."

Ianto was already running toward the keep. Jack sprinted to catch up with him, glitter trailing behind him, and they skidded to a halt as a small spacecraft materialized at the base of the hill. Ianto swore under his breath as a hatch opened on the bottom. Jack agreed with him, as spaceships in the city were a never a good thing. They raised their weapons and waited.

A black boot appeared, and another, followed by red trousers trimmed in white fur.

"I have a bad feeling about this," said Jack.

"Welcome to the Twilight Zone," murmured Ianto.

Several elves sprinted down from the castle, crowding around the figure standing before them. He appeared human, with a truly frightening tangle of white beard. He was large, at least seven feet tall, and exceptionally rotund. Beneath a red cap, a pair of startling green eyes pierced the night as the elves chittered at him.

The figure—alien? human? Father Christmas? – spoke in a language Jack did not recognize. Ianto, however, cocked his head.

"It's Paternivei," he murmured. Jack turned to him in surprise.

"I thought you were making it up," he said.

"You think I could make this up?" Ianto gestured at the site before them as the elves emptied their bags of stolen goods: dozens, if not hundreds, of statues, dolls, and pictures of Santa Claus. They chittered at the large figure in red some more, and he smiled benevolently down upon them, until two more appeared with the body of the elf Ianto had shot off Gwen. The alien frowned, and sent the elves back into the ship with their comrade. With a wave of his hand, the stolen goods disappeared. He took two steps closer.

"You have wronged my children," he said. "They only wished to remedy the sacrilege done to my image. None should have died."

"They attacked us!" Jack protested. "They hurt three of my team." He was counting Owen's pride among the injuries. "They stole from my people."

"My child is dead," the alien said. "You must pay the honor price."

"We hold no such debt," Ianto told him, his voice strong and stubborn. "We were defending our own. You have no right to come here and tarnish our traditions."

"Your traditions make a mockery of our world!" the alien hissed. "And for that you deserve to be punished."

He raised his arms and flung his hands down, and two projectiles flew from his wrists. One impaled itself in Jack's left shoulder; the other buried itself in Ianto's right. Both were large, glass candy canes.

"The honor debt is paid," said the alien. "We will not return to your world. You are crude and ignorant savages." He turned and returned to the ship. The hatch closed, hundreds of multi-colored lights came on, and without warning it ascended into the sky, leaving behind a burned ring of grass in the shape of a wreath.

Ianto grimaced at the candy cane sticking out from his shoulder. "Bollocks," he said. He tapped his earpiece. "Owen, Gwen's down and Jack and I got hit by candy canes. We need you at the castle." He didn't even bother to listen for a response.

"They're on their way," Ianto said. He watched in disgust as Jack pulled the glass from his shoulder. "You're going to bleed out, you know."

"It's not that bad," Jack said, but his coat was quickly soaking through with blood. "I'm sorry we didn't get to celebrate Christmas," Jack said. "At least, in the normal way."

"This is normal," Ianto replied. "For Torchwood."

"Most people don't get impaled on Christmas."

"Well, last year you were asphyxiated," he pointed out. "Less fumes, more blood."

"And already healing," Jack said, feeling the hole in his shoulder knit together. It burned like hell, but he rolled his arm a few times and stretched it out. "How about you?"

"Stitches and a sore shoulder from Santa, just what I always wanted," Ianto replied. He was even more sarcastic when he was in pain. "Maybe I'll get a fashionable sling for Christmas."

"Not from me," said Jack. "I got you a real gift."

"Then I guess I'll have to return the fake one I bought you."

Jack laughed for the first time that night. "I'll take what I can get. Come on, let's go check on Gwen."

"What about that ring?" Ianto motioned toward the burnt grass before turning away. "And the lights? Usual story?"

"We can come up with something," Jack told him. Ianto stumbled and Jack put an arm around Ianto's other shoulder to help him.

"How about Santa and his elves running around Cardiff, throwing glitter, puddings, and candy canes around? No one would ever believe it."

Jack laughed again as they found Gwen sitting on a nearby bench, covered in mud and talking on her mobile. Jack guided Ianto to sit down beside her, then glanced around the castle grounds.

"Definitely a Christmas to remember," he said.

"Better than almost jumping off a roof," Ianto murmured, and Jack nodded in agreement even though he hadn't been in London for that one.

"Rhys says he'll meet us at the Hub with pizza and beer," Gwen announced. "And clean clothes."

"Owen's on his way," Jack told her. "Are you two doing all right?"

"I got stabbed by Father Christmas," said Ianto, the sarcasm so dry it was combustible.

"I got bit by an elf," said Gwen

"Tie?" Ianto suggested. She nodded and they exchanged a high five.

"This would make a good story," said Jack. "Or maybe a comic book."

Gwen and Ianto burst out laughing; Jack decided it was their injuries. It would certainly make a good write up for the captain's log. He'd call it Christmas Kitsch and put it in a card to the queen with a picture of the team. Torchwood - for Queen and Country and Christmas.

**Author's Note:**

> Well thank gosh it's done! So this started out as something quite different: Ianto got hit by the candy cane and died! What! I wrote half the second chapter and half the third chapter before deciding it was utterly ridiculous and let him live. So you're welcome, although it feels slightly more ridiculous now. And if you're disappointed in Ianto's fate here, I'm sure I'll kill him at some point as I have some decent deleted material to rework. Thanks for reading and happy holidays!


End file.
